Emergence
by Meruujin
Summary: The adventures of a young witch who has never really been exposed to the real world at all and is now going to Hogwarts. She interacts with the students, but isn't particularly special. -.-


Emergence  
  
By Meruujin  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters/locations/ect. If I did, the stories wouldn't be half as good. :P All Harry Potter characters are © J.K. Rowling and her publishers, as well as Warner Brothers. They are used without permission, and I'm making absolutely no money out of this, nor plan to. (hahaha! As I I COULD make money from this drivel! LOL!)  
  
All characters/locations/ect. that DON'T belong to J.K. Rowling and are NOT featured in the Harry Potter books belong to either myself or acquaintances of mine and are used with permission. Please don't use them yourself, mine really suck anyway, and all the good ones belong to my friends. :P  
  
  
  
Chapter 1  
  
1  
  
Tristan West looked at the painting of his wife with sad, world-weary green eyes. The usual cold expression that filled his face and made him unreachable to the rest of the world was absent now. The only thing one could read from his expression was a sick, depressed desire to end everything. The cold gray granite of the stones that made up the room was not very helpful, nor did the dim light given by the torches do anything to make the atmosphere more pleasant. Tristan did not particularly mind this. He didn't want pleasant. He had plenty of other places to go for pleasant. No, he needed this. For some unexplainable reason he needed this darkness, this unhappiness.  
  
He took a shot of clear whiskey, bitterly savoring the burning feeling as he swallowed, and went back to looking at his late wife. Ysolde. The portrait was a very favorable one. The woman who looked back at him was exactly how he had remembered her. She had dark blue eyes, eyes he had always told her were like sapphires, only more precious. He had enough sapphires, or enough money for them at least. Yet nothing he owned could get him back those eyes, and nothing he could get could ever compare to them. Her hair was brown, a very dark shade of brown, one that could almost be considered black, but not quite there. She had her hair cut short, to her chin, and had bangs that were above her eyebrows.  
  
Some had considered her somewhat plain. She certainly hadn't been the beauty that her friends were. No, she could never compare to Lily, Estelle or Arin in physical looks. She was pretty enough, but not beautiful like they had been. She wasn't the best student at Hogwarts either. She was simply average, even poor, particularly when compared to her brother, and to himself. But there had been something in her that had always drawn him, something he couldn't quite explain at first. It was the rebelliousness in her eyes, the happiness in her smile, that willing acceptance of everyone. Something he had never seen before in anyone. Like a mixture of wildness and gentleness, recklessness mixed in with caution, every extreme in one small, brown-haired, blue eyed package, plain average package.  
  
The painting was missing that one detail. The eyes that looked back at Tristan now were sad, like something had torn out her heart and ripped it to pieces. They were the eyes of someone that had given up, who didn't want to deal with the world anymore and welcomed death. They were her eyes at the end. When victory had been bittersweet for her. When everyone else's, including their own, happiness and joy had been invaded by incredible sorrow. They were empty, as if she was already gone. They were the eyes that looked at him as she pleaded for him to let her go, and to take care of Daria.  
  
"I should have had her portrait painted before then…I should have done it after Daria was born…despite the times, she was brilliant then. But I never thought I would lose her. Amazing the things idiots like me take for granted. Amazing the games life plays on you." He thought bitterly, pouring himself another shot.  
  
Daria. She had been only five when Ysolde had died. Now she was eleven. For those six years, Tristan had clung on to her, hoping that she would never leave him, hoping that she would be a muggle, so he could keep her hidden, keep her caged, keep her tied to him. Keep her from pain and from being hurt and from being slowly killed like her mother. He had been successful for those six years, keeping her in the huge isolated abbey, only allowing her to be talked to by her tutor, firing one after another in fits of rage when he thought they were hurting her, no matter how insignificant the harm may have been. The tutor that had lasted the longest had been around for a year. With the exception of these teachers, and the few house servants, Daria had not been exposed to anyone. He did all his business from the abbey, sending owls to a representative to tell him what must be done, and only leaving on emergencies. Someone had been hired to do the shopping for food and clothes, and about ten house elves efficiently handled the rest of the house.  
  
No one had seen Tristan West or his daughter after Ysolde's funeral, none of the family friends at least. At first people were worried. When there was no response to their owls, they wondered if Tristan and Daria had somehow died. They eventually sent someone to make sure, but they were informed that both were indeed very much alive, but Tristan had become determined that his daughter would be kept away from the world from now on. No one bothered them after that, except the occasional muggle, although even they were rarely seen.  
  
Now it was all over. With one damned owl, one damned letter, he was going to lose her too. He had chosen to ignore the signs. He had fooled himself into thinking she had been completely devoid of magic. Even when the magic she performed without training was exceptionally good, when she showed signs of having power, he had told himself it was all coincidence, being quick to find another reason why whatever had happened had happened.  
  
He laughed bitterly, swallowing the hard liquor, loving the burning down his throat, feeling his head start to swim, grateful at the escape no matter how much he looked down on it when done by others.  
  
She had been elated at the letter. She had expected him to be happy as well, so he had gone along, pretended to be overjoyed, smiling and hugging her. He didn't want to make her unhappy with his own misery. It wouldn't be right. He didn't want her hurt at all. She was so fragile in his eyes. She was frail, thin and short. She took after his mother in that. The thin, cold hands that always pushed him away…she had them too. Except her hands welcomed him. The miniature, breakable built, thin and easily broken. Unlike his mother however, who had been cold and uncaring, steely though small, Daria was much more easily hurt. She cared a lot about what the few people she knew thought of her, and Tristan could tell that. That was one of the reasons for his protectiveness.  
  
And she looked so much like her mother, though it was not obvious at first. She had inherited his eyes, light green, brilliant, cold, steely, unreachable and imposing at first sight. Her hair color was a mix of his hair and Ysolde's, somewhere between red and dark brown, a deep dark burgundy that made her look even more pale and frail. But the expressions, certain looks she would give him, all yelled of Ysolde's side of the family. Her facial features were very much her mother's as well, making her pretty, but not ravishingly beautiful. Yes, sometimes she looked just like her mother, that loving look she would give him, the eyes so pure and innocent…  
  
But now she would be going to school. Leaving the abbey, going out into the coldness and cruelty of the world. Hogwarts would break her, he knew that. Either it would break her, or it would make her want to leave him, she would fall dizzy with love for the world, and leave him behind. He didn't want to either. He wanted to make things stay the way they were, but he knew he couldn't. She was already looking forward to it, he had already promised her that the next day they would be going to Diagon Alley. Getting the robes, the cauldron, everything that she would need.  
  
He sighed, started to pour himself another shot, then stopped.  
  
"Why bother?" he thought, and grabbing the whole bottle, he threw his head back and drank it down, savoring every moment of it, and putting the West name in lowest disgrace. He figured he'd get a quarter of it down before he passed out. If the ghost of his great great grandmother had been around, she would have screamed like a banshee. But she wasn't here, and he wouldn't have cared if she was. He wouldn't have cared who was in the room, unless it was Ysolde or Daria. But it wasn't them. It was no one. He was alone. Ysolde and he. He made a note to get used to it before the alcohol won him over.  
  
The rest of the world could go do obscene things to itself.  
  
  
  
Daria looked around, and wondered what time it was. It was still dark in room, but the light tended to do strange things in the abbey. It was the blown glass, it threw everything outside off, and furthermore, the gray stones always made every part of the huge abbey look grim and dark.  
  
She got out of her bed, pulling the soft purple silk curtains out of her way. She yawned and stretched, shuddering at the cold stones beneath her feet and feeling around for her warm fuzzy purple rug. She looked around for any house elves that may have been sneaking around. She wanted to ask the time, but she didn't want to bother her father. She sighed anxiously remembering the day before. He had acted happy, praised her and made her feel like she was the most wonderful thing in the world, as he always did. He had hugged her and held her and shared her happiness, like he always did. Yet, something had not been the same. Something had been wrong, and she couldn't quite tell what. This bothered her very much. It always did when her father felt that way. She couldn't explain, but she knew something was wrong, and it worried her.  
  
She sighed again, pushing all the thoughts out of her head, remembering what day it was. Today, she would be getting everything she needed for Hogwarts. Her daddy would be taking her to Diagon Alley, where she would get her robes, her telescope, and cauldron. Maybe she would meet someone who would go to school with her. She smiled at the idea. Finally, she would get to meet people her age.  
  
"They must be wonderful." she said, ruminating out loud to herself as she often did to keep from crying of loneliness. One had to do things like that to survive around here. "I'm sure school will be great. I really can't wait!" She giggled to herself, imagining meeting other girls, and what they would say. "They'll all want to be my friend, and I'm sure I'll want to be theirs…I'll have so many friends, and meet so many people…" She smiled, letting herself trail off.  
  
"But what if they don't like me?" she frowned now. "What if they think I'm ugly, and horrible, and they want me to leave?" She bit her lip, becoming very scared.  
  
She had never considered herself very pretty. After all, why else would her father keep her locked up in the abbey like he did? Because she was ugly, or at least there must have been something wrong with her. She wondered what was wrong with her, then she looked at the big brass mirror that was in front of her large canopy bed. How could she not know what was wrong with her? She scrutinized herself.  
  
For one thing, she was a practically a skeleton with skin somehow glued on. She could wrap one hand around her own wrist. Then there was the fact of how short she was. Her father was tall and elegant, where as she was skinny and looked like a starved animal. No wonder he didn't want anyone to see her. She was disturbingly pale, but that was because she rarely went out into the sun. Still, that was another part of her incredible lack of pulchritude. Then there was her face. She poked her nose, which in her opinion was way too pointy. Her eyes, she thought were a hideous color. In all the books she had read, (and being alone for a large part of her time, she had read many) all the heroines had emerald green eyes, or blue, or maybe sometimes brown and doe-like, once in a while, gray and mysterious. Pretty girls never had her color eyes, because her color eyes were ugly. And her hair…that was a whole other story; For one thing, it was thick, and short, where as most beautiful women in books had long flowing baby thin hair. The shade was kind of pretty, she would admit, but much too dark. The color was disgusting, she thought, and wrinkled her nose. Her lips, her eyebrows, her ears, her forehead, they were all ugly too. As a matter of fact, she was the epitome of ugly. The dictionary had her picture under the definition of ugly. She'd never really bothered look for fear that she was right.  
  
"Yeah, they're definitely going to think I'm ugly." She wondered if she wanted to go anymore, starting to chicken out.  
  
"But maybe they won't…maybe they'll like me despite my ugliness." She reassured herself.  
  
"Who are you trying to take for a fool?" She slumped down on the floor, ignoring the coldness against her long nightdress, and sighed.  
  
"And look at you, you talk to yourself too! They're going to think you're ugly AND insane!" with that, she didn't say another word.  
  
  
  
The trip to Diagon Alley had been cancelled five times already. Every time they would make a plan, Tristan would find an excuse to put it off. Daria was getting tired of it, and wondered if her father ever meant to take her there. She slumped against a luxurious red velvet couch in the living room, and sighed, becoming bored. She looked at the muggle device that sat on her lap. It was a portable compact disc player. Her last tutor, who had in her opinion been wonderful, had introduced her to the amusing little muggle device, and the muggle music that the little thing would play when she put the pretty iridescent discs into it.  
  
The young woman had been very interested in muggle art, particularly the more modern things. She particularly loved the music, specially the modern form of alternative rock. She always had some with her, and had introduced Daria to it, thinking of how lonely the girl must have gotten in that huge dim stone house all alone. When Daria had shared her love for it, or even surpassed it, she gladly gave the girl her CD player and several discs. Daria was really thankful for it. The noise helped her feel a lot less scared in the huge, practically abandoned abbey. The loud anger actually helped, a nice change from the absolute, almost mourning silence that was so prevalent through out the house.  
  
West Abbey had been in the possession of her father's family for a very long time. Daria couldn't quite remember how many generations, but she knew it stretched back to many centuries, possibly the 1600s. She also knew that it was one of the biggest buildings known to the wizarding world, about half the size of Hogwarts. Her father had had this drilled into her head for reasons Daria could not quite fathom. She figured it was pride, as a West, she was expected to know this. She would be inheriting the abbey eventually (a VERY long time from now Daria hoped) and she should know about it.  
  
Daria hated it with a passion. It was on the top list of things she hated. Since she got bored often, she'd actually bothered make a written list. She had too much time on her hands; she would be the first to admit. Anyway, the abbey she would eventually be in charge of was the second thing on her list of the things she most hated, the first being brooms, but she could avoid those a lot more easily. Hogwarts was her only chance at getting away from the place for a while, and Daria couldn't wait. She sighed, and skipped on to the next song, becoming bored with the first. That tended to happen when she listened to it for hours to keep herself busy. Everything got tedious when you did it for hours. But whatever you found to do in a place like that, you had to do for hours. Finding something new to do was a rare and difficult thing, especially when you hadn't left the building for the past six years.  
  
Usually the house elves tried to keep her occupied. They, like her tutor, sensed her loneliness and boredom. They spoiled her rotten, just like her father, giving her anything she wanted. She had only to demand, and they'd do whatever she wanted, and extra. They were not only following their mistress' orders, but trying to make her a little less sad and lonely. Many times they had been ordered to bend over and let themselves be kicked for suggesting to Tristan that it would be good for Daria to meet some kids her age, that some sun would have done her well. They didn't seem to learn, because they'd be quiet for a couple months, then bring it up again. They were quietly elated when they had been informed that she had received her letter of admission.  
  
A house elf walked over to Daria and poked her knee. Daria looked down at the small, strange looking creature. She usually liked the house elves, but lately she didn't like anything that had to do with the house. She frowned and made an unfriendly face at the little elf that was dressed in an old potato sack, and immediately felt incredibly guilty.  
  
"Well? What is it?" She asked, in a kinder tone than she first had planned. She wished she could call the elf by name, but she had never really bothered memorize who was who.  
  
"W-would Mistress Daria like something to eat? Squinkee can get Mistress Daria anything she wants!" The elf smiled up hopefully at her.  
  
Daria shook her head, sighing. "No thank you. I'm not really hungry right now…"  
  
"Is Mistress Daria sure?"  
  
"Yes"  
  
"Squinkee can make her many yummy things, she can!"  
  
"No, it's quite alright…" Daria was getting a bit annoyed.  
  
"But Mistress Daria hasn't had anything to eat all day!"  
  
"Squinkee, I'll be quite fine, and unless you want me to make you drop a bucket of freezing cold water on your head, leave!"  
  
The house elf let out a little squeak, apologized thoroughly and profusely for bothering Daria at all, and ran off.  
  
She sighed, hating to yell at the little elf like that, then skipped to the third song. She'd heard this one over and over again too.  
  
"I wonder how long these next few weeks are going to be…and if I'm even going to have my requirements by the time Hogwarts comes around."  
  
She sighed again and skipped to the fourth song.  
  
Tristan frowned, and slumped in the hard backed wooden chair. There was no point in putting it off. It had to be done eventually, or she would never forgive him, and as much as he hated to admit, she would be right. Today he'd take her to Diagon Alley. He told this to himself repeatedly, trying to imbed it in his mind and in his will.  
  
"There'll be no excuses today. I can't be that selfish." He told himself. But was he being selfish? After all, all he wanted was keep his daughter safe. There was nothing selfish to that. Despite the fact that maybe she wasn't thankful now, she would be thankful later. "Or will she be?" Yes, she would be, he told himself. He was only keeping her safe. And once again, he came close to making up another excuse for not taking her Diagon Alley, but stopped himself.  
  
Determined, he grabbed his long flowing black cloak and shut the bright, shining golden clasp around his neck. Brushing one hand through his red hair, he headed up the stairs to find his daughter. He found her, frowning and fiddling with that odd device the last tutor he'd hired had given her. She was sitting on the couch, looking quite bored and annoyed. He walked over and put a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Daria?"  
  
She jumped slightly, not expecting that, and turned around. "Wha? Huh?" She gave her father a questioning look.  
  
"I see you're dressed. Good. We're going to Diagon Alley to get your things now."  
  
"We are!?" Daria looked surprised, and gave him a huge smile. She jumped up, ready to go.  
  
The smile on her face made him want to kick a house elf, much to his own shame. She looked just like her mother when she smiled like that…but how could she be so happy about this? He was being selfish again, and deep inside he knew it, but denied it. Instead he nodded.  
  
"Grab your cloak. We're going to need a lot of time if you're going to get all your things today." He gave her a slight push.  
  
"YES! Alright!" and she was off.  
  
He watched her run off to find her cloak with a little more zeal than he would have liked. As if she almost wanted to leave. He sighed, and forced himself to resign to it, his eyes losing their usual power and coldness once again. 


End file.
